My writing skills will be severly judged come Thursday, when my whirlwind project will be distributed with the daily newspaper, Morgunbladid. I've been working on a Schedule of events for the 100 year anniversary of the town of Hafnarfjordur. Am kindof nervous about the whole thing. Writing in solitude is nerve-wrecking, I don't know how writers deal with it. It's like my one and only documentary - I showed it once ('cause I had to) but never again... too nerve wrecking. I am a closet perfectionist. 

Guess this is something I'll have to overcome... or not. I could be one of those lonely old people that when they die people discover them as one of the great writers/documentary film makers of the 21st Century... OR they'll say: wow, she really WAS a loon.

Either way, I will neither know nor care by then.

So... I missed the Bob Dylan concert which made me sad. But I did catch the performance of the Iceland Dance Company and Carte Blanche on Saturday - which was really good. 

Afterwards, me and Sólrún went to Hildur's to watch Eurovision, where Edda later joined us.

Like good Eurovision fans we had a marvellous drinking game, capitalizing on the contestants' tendancy to over-indulge in teeth-whitening agents and tanning creams... with extra points for obvious plastic surgery and bleached hair. 

Boy, were we wasted.

Hey, I love how my Apple takes pictures, here I am at work, pretending to be working while actually taking a photograph of myself. Kindof egocentric, huh?

Well. Wehehell. Good to see that the new "look" of my blog and the reinstalled comment system have been a great hit with my large group of fans and readers.

No, seriously.

Contain your enthusiasm, people!

Oh, ok... so maybe not evvverybody reads my blog. I never get quotes in the newspapers. 

Comments are usually at a bare minimum.

But I think I'm fun. I'm going to start commenting on ME. Yeessirrreeee!

Next comment: MINE!!! ALL MINE!

(I'm lonely.)

(but just on this blog, so don't go sending me "are you depressed, sweetums?" comments)

Keen observers and avid readers of my blog might have noticed a slight change in appearance as of late... yes, I did change my layout. Unfortunately I lost all my links (most of whom were ancient, anyway)... oh, well. I did manage to put my picture up there and reinstate the ever-so-popular comment system. Feel free to comment. In fact, please do. 

And you should also go to the amiina concert on Thursday or Friday - check it out at artfest.is 

Toodles.

So... still alive. Yep. Got a bit swamped at work.
And got hooked on Veronica Mars.
A bit late, granted... I've always kindof liked the show but didn't really take the time to get into it, ya know what I mean? So I start watching it from A-Z, feeling a bit dorky. Dorky, dorky. A 30 year old dork. How 'bout that! That is until (I would use capital lettering here, but I find it a bit dorky. Dorky, do..) I got to season two and voila... who are my favourite three guest stars? You guessed it: Joss Whedon, Alyson Hannigan, and Charisma Carpenter. Yey! My dorkdomhood was blessed by the creator of Buffy and Angel and Firefly himself. My crush on Logan Echolls is legit! (Maybe not, guess that would still qualify as cradle robbing. Althooouuugh I guess the actor isn't that far from my age...)
Speaking of Whedon, though - he has a new show coming out soon, Dollhouse I think its called, starring Eliza Dushku (Faith, ya see... and that Groundhog Day show, whatchamacallitagain). How psyched am I, huh? (This is why I'll never be cool.)

So. I bought a bike. There's a nationwide competition going on where company teams are encouraged to ride a bike to work instead of driving... and we signed up. Currently the women's team is kicking ASS (note that I don't mind using capital lettering here). Basically what it means is that for two days I've arrived at work sweaty like a horse. Drrripping. Would you trust me to do your PR? I make Nixon look like the Mojave. (ok, I couldn't find a decent analogy).

I quit milk for a couple of months, sortof as a test. Not a "how strroooong is your will, Brrrryndís" kind of test (we all know who'd flunk that one, even without the give-away name in the title) but a test to see if my skin would improve. Yes, my skin is majorly fucked up and hasn't decided on if it wants that burn-victim look or the albino one yet. So. 6 weeks in, my skin is okayish, but the real news is, well... that I haven't had milk for 6 weeks. Or chocolate. Isn't that weird? I would have guessed I'd never be able to do this: My middle name is "The Calf". Or was that for some other reason? My sis invited me to dinner exclaiming excidedly after I arrive: I made your favourite cheese enchiladas, filled with cheesy goodness and cottage cheese! (ok, she didn't really phrase it like that) AND I SAID NO, THANKS! Power of will, my friend, power of will. No stopping me now. Show me a door and I'll open it! Or some such phrase.

I'll go rest my tired, newly discovered bicycle muscles now and stop the blah.

Toodles